


Nothing Else Burns Like You

by raineraine



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Birthday, Birthday Party, Birthday Sex, Bottom Tony Stark, Eventual Smut, Happy Ending, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Can't Stop Writing Smut, Inspired by Music, M/M, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, One Shot, Post-Civil War (Marvel), Smut, Sorry Not Sorry, Steve Rogers-centric, Superhusbands (Marvel), The Author Regrets Nothing, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Top Steve Rogers, You Have Been Warned, read the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 14:37:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10923867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raineraine/pseuds/raineraine
Summary: Steve Rogers can't go on pretending forever-- and Tony Stark's birthday party is a great reminder of why.





	Nothing Else Burns Like You

**Author's Note:**

> Hello readers! This was a fun one-shot to write, and helped me work through some writer's block. I wrote it as a promise to a friend, and wanted to share it with all of you. 
> 
> Songs mentioned: I Crave You by Flight Facilities - Adventure Club Dubstep Remix, and Feel Something by Jaymes Young. All credit goes to these artists and I am only using their lyrics. 
> 
> Special thanks to [h34rt1lly](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LILYisatig3r/profile) for being my beta, and friend. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Tony Stark could turn any occasion into a party-- his favorite excuse was birthdays. If Tony’s lust for birthday parties in the past was any indication, Steve knew one thing to be sure: Stark’s own birthday was going to make the rest of them look like cozy get-togethers. 

 

_ Captain Rogers, you are invited to celebrate the 45th birthday celebration for Sir, this Friday at 7pm.  _

 

“Is attendance mandatory for all Avengers on Tony’s payroll, JARVIS?” Steve muttered as he lifted the bar back into place. The punching bag was where he usually beelined, but Bucky had been making a valiant effort to get him into circuit training lately. It didn’t help that Avenger’s circuit training involved an Asgardian god, a Soviet agent, the Winter Soldier, and a constantly befuddled Sam Wilson who loudly declared that it wasn’t fair for he and Clint to try to keep up around here. 

 

_ Mandatory is not the word I would use, but strongly suggested for “all of the leeches that live in my Tower to humor me” by Sir.  _

 

Steve rolled his neck and sighed. He hated the Captain America smile he had to plaster on at these events, and didn’t understand why they couldn’t just do something in the Commons with the team rather than making a public spectacle. “Dress code?”

 

_ I trust you have already presumed that this event is attended by the press, and Stark Industries investors-- it is a lounge event, Captain Rogers. I have taken the liberty of sending a few options that I think will appease your personal tastes, in your measurements, to your floor. Please do let me know if you do not desire them.  _

 

“Thank you, JARVIS. I’m sure you’ve made better choices than I would have.” Steve couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought of the AI’s fashion sense being better than his own. “I could just wear the Cap suit, you know. After all, that’s all I’m there for.”

 

_ Perhaps you should consider the alternatives,  _ JARVIS responded with a cryptic tone. 

 

It wasn’t worth dwelling-- apparently he had suits to go try on. Steve slipped from the weight bench and headed for the stairs, intending to drag Sam back to his apartment for a second opinion. Or maybe it was closer to dragging him away to lament about the presence of “important people” that necessitated his Cap persona instead of his actual personality. Whatever the motive, it didn’t really matter now-- he was knocking on Sam’s door. 

 

A long pause later, the door swung open to reveal Sam, holding a glass of orange juice. “Man, do you know what time it is? Get in here before I burn my damn bacon.”

 

“Good morning to you too,” Steve greeted as he stepped in, closing the door behind him. “And, for the record, I actually don’t know what time it is.”

 

Sam pointed to the clock and went back to his bacon with one hand, cradling his glass of juice like it might disappear if he put it down. 

 

“I must’ve gotten up earlier than I thought,” Steve shrugged. It was 6:17am, and he was undoubtedly interrupting Sam’s pre or post workout meal. “Have you gone on your run yet?”

 

Sam quirked a brow and cast a glance down at his sweats. “Nah man, I thought I’d throw on my Adidas for fun.” 

 

“If you drank anything aside from orange juice maybe you’d have a sense of humor in the morning.”

 

“I DO HAVE A SENSE OF HUMOR!”

 

JARVIS was silent, but Steve imagined he would be in the corner of the room biting back laughter if he had a body. Hell, that’s probably what he was doing even without one. Trading jabs with his best friend wasn’t why he was here, though. Nabbing a piece of bacon off of the plate (much to Sam’s chagrin), he leaned against the counter. “I’m actually here to ask for your fashion advice, believe it or not.”

 

“Blue looks good on you, trench coats aren’t in style anymore, and Barnes is the one who knows anything about hair,” Sam waved the spatula at Steve’s hand in a vain attempt to ward him off the bacon, “what more could you possibly need to know?”

 

“You know, with room and board, I think you can spare a piece of bacon.”

 

“Not with a Supersoldier appetite eating it as fast as I can-- ROGERS, DO YOU WANT SOME BREAKFAST?”

 

“Now that you mention it…”

 

Sam clicked his tongue at the one remaining piece of bacon on the plate with a resigned sigh, sliding a few more pieces into the pan. “But seriously, what fashion advice could you possibly need? Isn’t that why you have Natasha for a pal?”

 

“You know, I think she’d be happy to show you just how much she doesn’t resemble that remark,” Steve quipped back at him. “But this isn’t the kind of thing I want her opinion on. It’s for Tony’s party--”   
  
“What party? I haven’t heard anything about that.”

  
“I’ll let that go since it’s 6:30 in the morning, but his birthday party is on Friday, according to the invitation he had JARVIS pass along.”

 

_ I was waiting until you were unoccupied to deliver your invitation, Sam. Sir’s birthday party will be taking place on Friday at 7pm, and the Avengers team has been invited to attend. _

 

“Thanks for the heads up, JARVIS,” Sam was sliding the remainder of the meal onto plates before directing his gaze to Steve. “If I didn’t already know you had no 21st century fashion sense, I might assume you were asking me because I’m gay, but I’ll let it go. Thankfully for you, I do have some opinions about suits. Dress code?”

 

“You know that has nothing to do with it,” Steve replied flippantly, glossing over Sam’s reasoning. “JARVIS told me ‘lounge,’ whatever that is, and that he had some options sent to my apartment. I haven’t seen them-- I came here from the gym. So will you help me out?”

 

“You really do hate public appearances, don’t you?” Sam’s question was rhetorical, and Steve knew it. He cast his gaze to the eggs on his plate as his only means of answering. 

 

“Okay, okay. Let’s eat and go play Dress the Supersoldier.”

 

************************************

“The first thing I need you to understand is what lounge actually means,” Sam declared as he paced Steve’s living room. “This is a ‘relaxed’ formal dress code, but don’t get it it twisted-- suits are still mandatory for men, women still wear gowns. Think of it as a step up from cocktail, and a step to the side of black tie.”   
  
Steve stared at him, opening his mouth to interject with a question, and then quickly shaking his head. It didn’t matter how many questions he asked, he would still be out of his league. It was easier to just nod along with Sam’s explanations.

 

“Basically, what this means is you can add color to your outfit-- the shirt, the tie, the jacket, the shoes, or all of the above. With black tie we’d all be in penguin suits-- you know, black tux with a white shirt and bow tie. It makes sense that Tony wouldn’t pick that, considering he himself wouldn’t bother to abide by the dress code. The man will probably show up in a band shirt and a dinner jacket and call it a day!” Sam looked personally offended by the thought, animatedly waving his hands as he spoke. “But then again it is his party and he can smash the dress code HE SET if he wants to. Now, onto these options.”

 

JARVIS had sent up five suits sets and had them delivered to Steve’s apartment, with his tailored measurements, that were now hanging on a rolling rack in the middle of the room. Steve stood and stripped off his shorts before Sam could protest, holding up a hand. “I was in the army. It’s underwear. I don’t care.” He peeled off his shirt and dropped it to the floor in a pile with the shorts before he stood next to the clothing, waiting to be directed as to which he was putting on first. 

 

To his credit, Sam’s gaze didn’t linger. They’d been in the gym together enough times now that he probably didn’t do much seeing anymore. He pulled a slate grey set out first, the lapels trimmed in black velvet, with a silk purple shirt to pair it with. Steve slipped it on without comment, having no real opinion on this one, before standing for inspection. He glanced in the mirror across the room and saw that it was well-fitted (thanks, JARVIS), but didn’t look like something he would have selected for himself. “Well?”

 

Sam tilted his head as he circled, studying, before giving a brisk shake. “The lavender of the shirt works, but I don’t know-- you don’t strike me as a velvet wearer.”

 

“Not once in my life.”

 

“Get that off, then. Try this one,” Sam indicated an all-maroon number that was hanging toward the middle of the rack. 

 

This time, Steve had an opinion. “It’s not bad. Seems more Clint than it does me though, JARVIS.”

  
_ I wanted to ensure a variety for your selection, Captain Rogers. _

 

“You certainly gave me that,” Steve agreed, turning his gaze on Sam. “Unless you think it looks better?”

 

“Better than the last one, but now that you’ve mentioned Clint, you’re definitely right. But I don’t think you need to try on all of these.”

 

“Is there not one you--”

  
“No man, there’s one I know will work. Trust me.”   
  
Sam was holding up a silk, electric blue jacket and pants set. Steve noticed there was no shirt or tie, but Sam held up a finger to wait. He shook out a glacier blue shirt from another set, tucking it on the same hanger, before looping a grey tie with a small pattern over it. “This is it. Put it on, and you’ll see what I mean.”

  
Steve hesitated for a moment, wary of another missed endeavor, before taking the hanger and dressing again. As he started to knot the tie, he noticed what the pattern actually was-- gold Iron Man helmets, interspersed throughout matching polkadots. “Really? You skipped the golden opportunity to stick me with shields?”

 

“Technically, JARVIS is the one who ordered everything. And yes, I did, because it isn’t your birthday,” Sam looked smug. “Besides-- you aren’t Captain America. You don’t need to be a walking billboard for him. Sometimes people need to remember you’re Steve Rogers.” 

 

Steve couldn’t help but soften at that, dropping his stiff posture. “You know how many people don’t see that?” he muttered, eyes locked on a spot just behind Sam’s head. 

 

“Yeah, I do,” Wilson acknowledged, pulling him in for a hug. “They don’t get to be Steve’s best friend. I do. And to be Steve’s best friend, you have to know who he is.”

 

Steve let himself relax into the embrace, returning it carefully with the suit in mind. “I think you picked a winner, even with this tie.”

 

Sam pulled back, smug once more, and admired his handiwork on Steve. “I’m glad you see it my way. You’re the one who came to me for ‘fashion advice,’ remember?”

  
The throw pillow was flying at Sam before he could even duck.    
  
*******************************

Steve had opted to get ready with Sam and Bucky Friday afternoon, knowing that between the two of them, it was inevitable that they would have drug him away to mess with this that or the other thing. This way, they were in one place, and he would just have to submit to any harassment. Clint and Peter had decided to join them, but not to criticize Steve’s “old man tendencies” like Bucky had, or straighten his tie knot like Sam was currently doing. Word around was that Natasha was helping the twins, and anyone else was fending for themselves. 

 

“Heard that JARVIS found a suit for you that would look better on me,” Clint sniggered as he pawed through Steve’s closet.    
  
“You know, not only do you have your own floor, you certainly have your own closet,” Steve pointed out before pulling out the maroon suit free from a garment bag. “It would suit you, but here’s the catch-- it’s tailored for me.”

 

Clint wrinkled his nose before waving the hanger away. “Have it tailored for me if you’re not sending it back, and I’ll take it off your hands.”

 

_ The arrangements have already been made, Clint,  _ JARVIS quipped helpfully. 

 

“You’re already dressed anyways!” Peter called from the adjoining bathroom.

 

“Quit ruining all my fun kid!” Clint shouted back at him, straightening his silver jacket before tucking a black tie into it. His pants matched the jacket, with a black shirt that was surely set to match Natasha later. 

 

“Why aren’t you wearing any shoes?” Bucky was peering over Steve’s shoulder at Clint’s bare feet, pausing with a comb in hand. “God, I already have to help this one with his hair, do I need to hold your hair too Clint?”

 

Sam dropped a pair of freshly-polished shoes on the floor to end the discussion. “Here. I shined ‘em up for you-- did all of ours, in fact. You’re welcome.” 

 

Peter appeared from the bathroom, hair slicked to one side in a fashion that looked suspiciously like it was courtesy of Bucky, now dressed in a slim-fit black suit over a black t-shirt. “Is this good enough? I’ve never been to a party like this before and I--”

 

Bucky whistled at him, eliciting a flush from Peter as he inched for the door. “I’m going to go wait out in the kitchen, it’s getting cramped in here.”

 

“You look fine, Peter,” Steve called after him as he exited the closet. 

 

Sam and Bucky squabbled over who got the bathroom first, and in the end Sam was left to change in the closet while Bucky commandeered the bathroom, citing that he needed it “because I’ve spent enough time getting everyone else pretty” as he shut the door in Sam’s face. Sam’s grey suit was accented with widespread navy pinstripes, paired with a crisp white shirt and a matching navy tie. He was fastening a silver watch on his wrist when Steve raised an eyebrow at the bathroom, wondering how much longer Bucky might be. 

 

Half an hour later, with everyone else retiring to the couch to wait, Bucky emerged from Steve’s bathroom. Steve’s words stalled in throat when he saw him, looking so much more like a Howling Commando than the Winter Soldier. 

 

He had gotten his hair cut, kept it cut for that matter, since moving into the Tower a few months ago. The styling mirrored Peter and Steve’s, all ‘40s pompadours. The wide peak lapel suit jacket he had chosen was double-breasted, wrapping just enough to echo a memory-- a navy peacoat in Germany, the color an exact match. His steel shirt and black tie gave it just enough modern edge for a Tony Stark bash. Bucky threw him a wink, a casual reminder that yes, he was just as much Bucky now as he had ever been then.    
  
“Ready to go, gentleman?” 

 

Steve would have swore the man was downright preening. With a laugh, they headed for the elevator to collect Nat and the twins before they went to the party deck. It didn’t take that long-- as the elevator stopped on Clint and Nat’s floor, the doors opened just as Nat was about to step in. Clint was the one to whistle this time, exaggerated and low, before he pulled her to him. Her purple lace dress hugged her curves, train puddling on the elevator floor as Clint held her in appreciation. A brighter lace trimmed the keyhole back, muscle tone rippling as she moved to kiss him. Steve noted the black heels she wore as she shifted to make room for the twins. 

 

Wanda’s dress skimmed the floor as well, pooling at her feet as she settled. The navy number was strapless and shimmering, looking like constellations dotting a clear night sky as she moved. He hair was long and loose, with a slight curl to the ends that mirrored Natasha’s. Steve couldn’t help but smile at the relationship between the two of them, no matter what exactly it was. Pietro, true to their dynamic, matched her impeccably in a matching suit and crisp white shirt, left free at the collar and lacking a tie. Sam nodded appreciatively to the pair of them.

 

“Nat, are you out for my title of personal shopper?” Sam chuckled as he elbowed her. 

 

“Not my fault you resemble that remark,” she answered and poked her tongue out at him, waiting for him to pick up on what he had just walked into. 

 

“Well, I mean, it isn’t my fault none of these guys can-- damn it, Natasha!”

 

There was a chorus of laughter as the doors opened to the party deck, already abuzz with energy and bodies. 

 

“Let’s go find Stark. It is his birthday, after all,” Pietro admonished as he disappeared. 

 

******************************************

Tony Stark could not wear sensible clothing, and if a black velvet suit with high top sneakers didn’t emphasize that, nothing on this earth would. Sam looked personally wounded as he took in Tony’s outfit, probably wondering if it there was any sort of socially acceptable way to tell the guest of honor that their fashion sense sucked (and concluding that there was not) as he glanced at Steve. 

  
“He could have gotten ready with the rest of us!”

 

“No, he couldn’t have,” Steve murmured. As if this whole debacle wasn’t already difficult enough, he did not need one Anthony Stark watching him dress up for an event. 

 

“Don’t be that way. It isn’t his fault you won’t tell him--”

 

Sam’s forthcoming speech was interrupted by Pietro appearing in front of them (still not used to that) with no warning. “Found him,” the blonde Maximoff twin declared triumphantly as he pointed.

 

“Let’s go wish him a happy birthday,” Wanda suggested, linking arms with her brother to pick her way through the crowd of assembled guests.

  
Natasha raised an eyebrow at Sam, waiting for him to finish his earlier statement, but he wasn’t biting. He shook his head and elbowed Steve, avoiding eye contact with her. “I know alcohol doesn’t do anything for you, but I need a drink. Comin’?”

 

Steve took the out Sam was handing him, nodding to Nat, Clint, Peter, and Bucky as he moved to follow Sam. “I’ll be around if you need me,” he called over his shoulder. Classic-- never could shake the Cap voice when he spoke to the team.

 

Sam thanked the bartender for the drink, some imported strawberry porter that Steve wasn’t about to try to pronounce, and stalked to the line of windows that overlooked Manhattan. Lengthening his stride, Steve met him there with ease in a few steps. “Now I know why I ran-- why did you?”

 

“You’re not the only one who won’t talk to your teammates,” Sam muttered into his stein. “But you’re the one who has more of a shot if you say somethin’.”

 

Steve’s gaze wandered over the top of Sam’s head to the crowd gathered around Tony, featuring the twins, Nat, Clint, an assortment of former SHIELD employees, a few Stark Industry higher-ups, and… Pepper Potts. As an artist, he could admit her beauty-- not just tonight, but any time. Her hair was down, a rare sight, stretching over a couture-looking peach gown that caught the light as she laughed at something the assembled party had said. If she was anyone else, he would want to draw her like this. But she wasn’t. 

 

“Why is she here?”

 

Sam pivoted to follow his gaze before turning to gape at Steve’s venomous tone. “I damn sure hope that was a rhetorical question, Rogers.” 

 

“She’s been in Malibu since they broke up!”

 

“And she’s the CEO of Stark Industries! Do you not see the big-wigs roaming around? How could you think she wouldn’t be here?” Sam’s tone was sharp as he rubbed a hand over his face. “You don’t get to be bitter just because you’re a damn chicken.” 

 

“That isn’t--”

  
“Do NOT. Not with me, of all people. I know what’s it’s like to pine over someone and tell yourself you can’t have them. Go talk to him, or I will for you,” Sam threatened before draining his stein. “You’re driving me to drink.”

 

“You were already drinking.”

 

Sam gave him a light shove in Tony’s direction as he headed for a refill. The lights were dimming, courtesy of JARVIS, as the music volume increased. He heard various cheers from around the room, with the assembled guests probably being just intoxicated enough to remember that Tony Stark parties didn’t go without a bang. Steve noted Natasha dancing with Wanda and Clint, and saw occasional blurs of Pietro’s hair. Bucky had more moves than any of them put together, and was currently teaching Peter some complex-looking (and modern-- they didn’t know that move back in the ‘30s) dance move as Tony watched them with a smirk. The beat was smooth, different than he was used to, but altogether pleasant. As a soft voice came in, Steve stilled, listening to the lyrics.

 

_ Can't you want me? _

_ Can't you want m-m-me? _

 

_ Let's just stop and think before I lose faith _

_ (Ah, ah, ah, ah!) _

 

_ I walked into the room dripping, in gold _

_ I walked into the room dripping, in gold _

 

_ A wave of heads did turn, or so I've been told _

 

_ My heart broke when I saw you kept your gaze controlled _

_ Oh I cannot solve _

 

_ Why can't you want me like the other boys do? _

_ They stare at me while I _

_ Crave you _

 

He blinked, looking for wherever Tony had ended up in the swirl of bodies that were now dancing. Steve couldn’t make him out, not in that ridiculous black velvet suit with the lights down like this. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t make out Tony-- he could make out someone else, and it told him everything he needed to know. Pepper was running a hand through Tony’s hair, his eyes hooded as he studied her. 

 

Steve had never wished he could take a drink and feel it more in his life. 

 

Crave, indeed.

 

He felt a hand on his shoulder, one he hadn’t expected, and shrugged it off as he turned to meet the eyes of--

 

“Bucky? You were just--”

 

“Goddamnit, punk, be quiet, I have something to tell you.”

  
Steve took a breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, hearing the classic James Buchanan Barnes lecture building, but nodded for him to proceed. 

 

“I’ve been watching you since I came home, but fuck, I’ve really been watching tonight. You never take your eyes off of Stark. You don’t see all these damn people in here who smile your way, like that cute blonde from SHIELD, or even the dorky intern guy from R&D that has been staring you down since we stepped o’tta the elevator tonight. You, Steven Rogers, have never been able to talk to someone you like. But I’d suggest starting right the hell now, before someone else takes her chance at getting him back.”

 

Steve shot a glance at Pepper and Tony once again, before looking over Bucky’s shoulder at Sam to find him giving the I Already Told You stare. “What if he--”

 

“Isn’t gay? Isn’t bi? Isn’t any of the things that you are? Well then at least you tried. GO, Steve!”

 

Sam had appeared at Bucky’s elbow and nodded at the close of his sentiment, both men crossing their arms to stare at Steve. “What are you still standing here for, man?” Sam demanded. “Go get him.”

 

Steve took Sam’s beer out of his hand and drained it, swallowing hard before he handed it back. “Not that it does a damn thing,” he supplied to Sam’s bewildered expression. “It is an open bar, though. We’ll pretend it worked. Go get a refill.”

 

Sam was still staring at him slack-jawed as Steve straightened his jacket and made his way through the crowd. He caught Natasha’s eye as he did, giving her a small nod as he wove between bodies. Nat whispered something to Clint before slipping out of his grip, her hand alighting on Pepper’s arm with a warm smile. Steve hesitated mid-step, watching her gesture to Pepper before Nat ushered her to the bar. He heard some mention of a glass of wine to catch up as they brushed past him. Pepper didn’t even look back, comfortable as ever among Tony’s friends. 

 

“Capsicle!” Tony called, raising his scotch in greeting. “Here to wish me a happy birthday?”

 

That was the only opening Steve needed. 

 

***************************************************

 

Tony had been watching the guests as they arrived, taking note who he had to socialize with out of pure obligation to his company, and who he actually had wanted to invite. When the rest of his team arrived, he warmed-- they cared. The one he hadn’t expected to come, invitation or not, was Pepper. Extremis, the breakup, and a laundry list of arguments between then and now hadn’t been any indicator that she would want to wish him a happy birthday. Then in she walked, all smiles for the board members and guest, looking as radiant as the day she’d left him. And when she leaned in to embrace him… it was nothing like that day.

No pain. No want. No anguish. 

 

Just Steve Roger’s Captain Fuckin’ America (patented) smile, the only thing catching his eye in the entire room. 

 

Pepper laughed at his jokes, always a few seconds too late. He knew her efforts were forced, and it didn’t matter. It didn’t bother him anymore. When Natasha slipped beside her, asking if she wanted to get a glass of wine and catch up, he didn’t watch them go to the bar. All Tony could see over their disappearing shoulders was the only person who’d had his attention all night. 

 

“Capsicle!” Tony called, raising his scotch in greeting. “Here to wish me a happy birthday?”

 

Steve cocked his head, that fake fuckin’ smile dropping from his face. For that moment, there was nothing else in the room, just that catch breath where Tony wondered if he was even enjoying a damn thing about this shindig. They were finally getting their footing around each other, and he didn’t want to lose that over a stupid press-filled birthday party. Tony’s lips parted, poised in apology, just as Steve laughed. It was deep, reverberating through Tony’s mind as Steve strode to stand in front of him. 

 

“You say that like you thought I might not,” Steve accused lightly, his eyes brightening with mischief. “Happy birthday, Tony Stark. You throw quite the party.”

 

“Well, you know-- you only get old once.”

 

“You’ve been old for a while!” Clint hollered as he passed them, en route for another plate of food.

 

Tony stuck his tongue out at Clint before turning his attention back to Steve, positively beaming for the first time that evening. It felt like a celebration now, and it was time to start enjoying himself.    
  
“J, time for the stage,” Tony muttered. 

 

“Stage?” Steve’s brow furrowed, looking unsure as to whether he had really caught what Tony said.    
  
“A new musician I’m sponsoring-- I liked him so much, I wanted to see his chops in the flesh. So my sponsorship came in the form of paying him to play at my birthday party. Everyone likes live entertainment. Now hush, he’s up there!”

  
Steve’s eyes followed to where Tony was pointing, a small stage on the upper deck of the room where a small man had appeared. The lights cut, stirring confused chatter from the assembled guests (who hadn’t seen the movement above them), before the music started. Just as he and JARVIS had planned, down to the sole light flooding the singer at his keyboard. If he strained, he could make out the lines of Steve’s face. He was studying, assessing-- all the traits Tony could see he was picking up from Barnes. But unlike Barnes, Steve didn’t stay tense. Once the first song dropped off, Tony saw a flash of teeth as Steve realized that the show would be going on for a while yet. The room had burst into applause and drunken cheering, reminding Tony that his surprise had gone off without a hitch.   
  
“Hello everyone-- I’m Jaymes Young, and I am here at the invitation of the birthday man himself, Mister Tony Stark! I want to thank him for this honor, and thank you all for the warm reception,” the man was speaking into the mic, looking bashful but delighted. “I have a few more songs for you guys, and I hope you all enjoy.”

 

Tony nudged Steve and raised and eyebrow, asking for approval as the beat increased. The only answer he needed was Steve’s genuine smile as his gaze followed Jaymes’s fingers across the keyboard. He was enjoying it-- the old capsicle, engrossed in indie contemporary music. 

 

_ I don't care if it hurts _

_ I'll pay my weight in blood _

_ To feel my nerves wake up _

_ So love me now or let me go _

_ Let me feel these high and lows _

_ Before the doors to my heart close _

 

_ Touch me someone _

_ I'm too young to feel so _

_ Numb, numb, numb, numb _

_ You could be the one to _

 

_ Make me feel something, something _

_ Make me feel something, something _

_ Show me that you're human, ohh _

_ Make me feel something, something _

 

**********************   
  


Steve couldn’t take it anymore. 

 

Standing here, Tony being pushed closer to him by the second with the sway of bodies to the music, was torturous enough. But as soon as the second song started, and Jaymes’s velvety voice (Tony had picked a talented guy to sponsor) was keying in on every word he hadn’t mustered the courage to say. He’d never been more grateful for, in this order: a) darkness, and b) the serum, which made the pitch-black room no less visible to him than a dimly lit one. He knotted his fingers over Tony’s and tugged him through the crowd, not hearing a single protest from the birthday man himself. When they were tucked behind a pillar in the corner of the room, Steve spun on his heel and tugged at Tony’s lapels to pull him closer. 

 

Tony’s back was pressed to the pillar, his eyes wide and pupils dilated. Steve saw the rapid rise and fall of Tony’s chest as he dropped his gaze. 

 

“I owe you a birthday present,” Steve whispered against Tony’s ear, one hand balanced on the other side of Tony’s head. 

 

“Is it a surprise?” Tony choked out, his usual sass and snark replaced by an anxious tone. 

 

“Something like that.”

 

Steve didn’t wait for an answer, his own nerves overwrought, as he hooked an arm around Tony’s waist and dropped his mouth from ear to neck. He felt Tony’s back arch as he tasted the skin exposed above the velvet collar, with fingers digging into Steve’s bicep as he sunk in his teeth. Tony squirmed against the pillar, his breathing erratic, while Steve kissed his way up Tony’s jaw to meet his lips. 

 

_ Make me feel something, something _

_ Show me that I'm human, ohh _

 

This, here, was the most he’d felt in months-- maybe since waking up from the ice at all. Frozen or not, he was twenty-six, not geriatric. Steve pinned Tony’s hips with his own as he slid his hand from Tony’s waist to his jaw, tilting his head back to deepen the kiss. Tony, for his part, was grinding into Steve’s advances as he moaned. Their privacy wasn’t going to last long, and Steve wanted more. 

 

One hand firm on Tony’s jaw, he pulled away, pressing a finger to his own lips.

“You don’t want to get caught, do you, Tony?” Steve purred, his fingers seeking the hard line of Tony’s cock pressed against his waist. 

 

Tony didn’t answer, only groaned as Steve palmed his cock through the dress slacks. Steve leaned into him, his body completely enveloping Tony’s, letting his mouth cover Tony’s ear before he spoke again. “I think your birthday present can’t wait. I want you to turn around, put your hands on the pillar, and let me give you your present. Can you do that for me?”

 

Steve emphasized his statement by thrusting his hips, his cock brushing against Tony’s, with only fabric separating them. He felt Tony’s hips stutter against him, and then a slow nod. Steve nipped at Tony’s neck as he pulled away, meeting Tony’s eyes. “Do you trust me, Tony?”

 

“More than anyone.”

 

***********************

 

Tony couldn’t get a deep breath. Kissing Steve felt better than taking in oxygen, and when he had pulled back, the loss felt visceral. He couldn’t help but pout, staring dazed at Steve’s gesture to quiet. His cock ached, twitching under the subtle strokes of Steve’s fingers as he groaned. When Steve’s request registered, his response was automatic. He did trust Steve. If he hadn’t before, he sure as hell did now. 

 

He also trusted that his cock was throbbing with need, and he would have came apart under more of Steve’s expert lips and touches alone. Tony felt needy, flustered-- all things he wasn’t used to having crop up out of nowhere, not being in meticulous control of. Steve raised an eyebrow and gestured for him to keep his word, pointing to the pillar. Tony drew in another shaky breath, nodding to Steve before he pressed himself to the pillar, feeling the cool of steel under his flushed skin. 

 

Steve’s fingers worked his zipper open in a matter of seconds, his fingers closing around Tony’s cock dauntlessly. If there had ever been an answer for the lingering glances, for Tony’s questioning fantasies… it was here, pinned under Steve as he bit his lip to keep from moaning his pleasure to the whole room. He felt Steve’s cock pressed to his ass, as alert as his own. Steve guided one of Tony’s hands to his cock, a silent request to stroke himself, and Tony compiled in confusion. Was that… That couldn’t be it! Get him all worked up just to ask him to mast--

 

Tony’s internal monologue fell away as he felt lube-slicked fingers slipping against his skin, stroking the crack of his ass as Steve released the button on his slacks. A knee slipped between his own, pinning his pants before they fell, but leaving enough room to--  _ oh.   _ Steve’s fingers paused at his tailbone, leaving Tony impatient. Steve had told him to keep quiet, for good reason (it wouldn’t really do to have this hit a press field day), so he did the next best thing. Tony reached his free hand to Steve’s, giving his fingers a squeeze before he guided one of them to his ass. The position of his feet, not very widespread, made it difficult-- but Steve wasn’t one to shy from a challenge. Tony felt a hand slide around his throat, just holding, as a digit sunk knuckle-deep inside him. 

 

He had to bite his tongue to keep from gasping audibly, jerking his cock faster as Steve worked in and out. Tony ground onto Steve’s hand, silently begging for more than this, in the time they had. At the introduction of a second finger, he had to slow his own pace for fear of coming apart. Steve must have noticed, stilling with just his fingertips hooked inside. Tony felt his breath on his ear, then teeth sinking into his neck just above the hand-hold Steve had maintained. “We don’t have time for slow. Don’t stop, Tony.”

 

“If you say so,” Tony’s voice sounded foreign, pitched higher in arousal and need. “But if you don’t want me to stop, you need to fuck me for real.” 

 

“Language,” Steve admonished as he tightened his grip on Tony’s throat. “I’ll show you fucking for real.”

 

“Now who’s lang--” Tony couldn’t finish his thought, his forehead falling to the steel once more as he felt the head of Steve’s cock pressing against him. 

 

“Tell me you want this,” Steve begged, his cock already dripping on Tony’s balls. “I need to know.”

 

“I want everything you can give me.”

 

Tony couldn’t breath as Steve sheathed himself, pulling Tony’s hips down hard against his own. The loss of a hand on his throat should have made it easier, but it wasn’t. He was overwhelmed with excitement, with need, with want-- pure exhilaration. With every thrust, Steve was pushing him to stand up straight, sending shocks straight through him as he pulled out and grazed his prostate. Tony had given up hope to keep his own hand in tandem with Steve’s determined pace, settling for erratic patterns as he revelled in getting everything he’d wanted for months-- years?-- in the form of being under Steve Rogers. 

 

Steve wrapped an arm around Tony to pull him closer once again, with his head ducking long enough to grit out, “I’m going to cum. Cum with me, Tony. I need you to cum for me.”

 

With some remaining rational portion of his brain, Tony yanked a handkerchief out of the breast pocket of his shirt, wrapping it around his cock as he stroked. Steve slid another arm around him, holding Tony against his chest as his thrusts became shorter, harder. Tony let his head fall to Steve’s forearm, muffling his cry in Steve’s sleeve as he came. Steve stilled, his head falling to rest on Tony’s shoulder, before giving a final thrust as he himself came. 

 

Ever the gentleman, Steve didn’t move until Tony did, allowing him to pull away before he tucked himself back into his slacks. Steve worked the handkerchief out of Tony’s hand, tucking it in his own pocket with a wicked grin as Tony glanced over his shoulder.    
  
“What are you doing, you dirty old man?” he quipped, pulling his pants back on. 

 

“Saving that for a rainy day? Might sell on eBay for a pretty penny,” Steve offered, winking. 

 

“You wouldn’t know the first thing about eBay.”

 

“You’re right,” Steve relented, pulling Tony to his chest and tugging his face upward. “Happy birthday, Tony.”

 

Tony stretched to meet Steve’s lips, pliable under his grip. The kiss lingered, something that he clung to for now. It didn’t feel anything like a ‘I’ll call you sometime’ parting, but a ‘I’ll see you in bed later’ promise. Tony wound his fingers in Steve’s, nodding toward the party. “I should probably reappear before the end of the set. Can’t be leaving my own birthday party early, can I?”

 

He couldn’t keep the sigh out of his tone, not believing his own words as he gazed into the darkness, unable to detect more than flickers of motion. 

 

“You can do anything you want, Tony,” Steve supplied quietly. “And if you want, I’d really like to take you to breakfast.”

 

Tony arched an eyebrow before looking down at his watch.  _ 12:31am.  _ “It’s after midnight-- does this mean you’re taking me on a follow up date?”

 

“Never a wrong time for a second date,” Steve tugged him toward the elevator, just down the wall from their corner. “And never a wrong time for breakfast, if Bucky has taught me anything in my life.”

 

“You should know by now that breakfast isn’t a meal to me without coffee,” Tony warned as they stepped into the elevator. “Date’s off without it.”

 

“Why don’t you come to my place and I’ll make you a pot?” Steve was doing it again, pressing into him with one hand to the side of Tony’s head, licking his lips like a man starved. 

 

“Throw in another round and you’ve got yourself a deal, Capsicle,” Tony supplied before he captured Steve’s lips. 

 

And that was how he ended up in Steve’s kitchen, wrapped in blanket, drinking coffee at 4am. 

  
_ I could get used to this. _


End file.
